


I'd Be Down (If You Asked)

by Pigzxo



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Episode Related, First Dates, Flirting, Fluff and Crack, Kissing, M/M, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 05, Time Skips, it's not canon compliant but also not not canon compliant, jonmartin is endgame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25886773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigzxo/pseuds/Pigzxo
Summary: Tim takes Martin on a date. Years later, Jon is not happy to hear this story.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 16
Kudos: 168





	I'd Be Down (If You Asked)

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by & directly connected to the bonus episode Fluff - Epiphany. But will probably make sense if you haven't listened to it.

Martin opened the door to find Tim on the other side. He rubbed his bleary eyes and blinked, just to be sure. Yup. Tim. “Hi…” Martin began. He took in Tim’s appearance – clean-shaven, dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt despite wearing a band tee to work that morning – and then met his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean what am I doing here?” Tim gave him a weird look and then brushed past him into the little room at the Archive. “I told you, my dance card’s open.”

Martin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “And I thought I said it wasn’t you.”

“Technically, you didn’t.”

“It’s not you, Tim.”

“But I knocked.”

Martin couldn’t help himself – he laughed.

“Alright, get dressed.” Tim headed for the door.

“Get dressed for what?”

“Dinner, silly.” Tim leaned against the doorframe for a second, his head tilted and eyes wide. For a moment, he looked almost sympathetic. “Don’t tell me you’re going to turn down a free dinner just because you don’t _like_ me.”

Martin threw a pillow at the door as it closed.

Dressed in slacks and a nice shirt, Martin walked down the dark London street with his hands in his pockets. Tim kept up a steady stream of chatter as Martin searched the road for worms. But as they wandered further from the Archive and into the better lit, more heavily populated parts of town, there were hardly any.

Tim caught his arm just as they reached the door of a dimly lit restaurant. The name looked suitably bougie for Tim and the short line out the door spoke of good reviews. “We’re here.” Tim pulled Martin into the line with a roll of his eyes. “At least try to have fun. I’m a good date.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“When’s the last time you were on a date?”

“I don’t know—”

“That’s the problem.” Tim smirked. “Loosen up. Have some fun. At the very least, we might make your special someone jealous.”

Martin snorted. Jon? Jealous? Unlikely. But he smiled back and let himself be taken away by the stories of Tim’s exploits outside the Archive. He wished he had time for a life outside of work but work and his mom and sleep seemed to take up all the hours in the day. Tim told the hostess his name and was immediately greeted with a shinier smile than the other impatient patrons. She stepped out from behind the counter and said, “Right this way, sir.”

Tim held his arm aloft for Martin to take and, bemused, Martin did.

“What was that?” he whispered, somewhat aware of how close he was to Tim’s ear.

Tim turned his sparkling eyes on him, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “I have friends in high places, darling. Get used to it.” He pulled out Martin’s chair for him and then kissed the hostess’ hand as he took his seat.

“What the hell,” Martin said.

“How do you think I get police reports?”

“I… well… sexual favours, I guess.”

Tim widened his eyes slightly and tilted his head towards the hostess’ retreating figure as if to say, _well._

“Oh.”

A waiter appeared and filled their water glasses as he made his introduction. Martin immediately took up his glass to have something else to pay attention to than Tim’s amused face. He was sure his own cheeks were red as tomatoes.

“We’ll take a bottle of merlot for the table. You know the one I like.”

Martin put down his glass. “Actually, red wine has tannins and—”

“You’ll survive.”

The waiter glanced between the two of them, clearly torn between whatever orders he had to keep Tim happy and the customer service instinct to listen to every individual patron.

“My boyfriend gets headaches,” Tim said. Martin spit out his water. “He’ll be fine. And more napkins, if you don’t mind.”

The waiter gave a small nod and scurried away.

With a smooth motion, Tim pulled his napkin out from under his utensils and offered it to Martin. Martin took it and dabbed at the water dribbling down his chin. Then he started to dry the tablecloth.

“Are you always this jumpy on dates?”

“You called me your boyfriend.”

“So?”

“So… I’m not.”

“I know that. You know that. Who cares if _the waiter_ knows that?”

“He’s still a human being, you know.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I meant. Just that you’re never going to see him again. Let him think you have a hot boyfriend, Martin. What’s the harm?”

“Do you really refer to yourself as hot?”

He shrugged. “If the label fits.”

Martin wasn’t about to disagree with him – Tim was certainly nice to look at, all tall, dark and handsome – but he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of agreeing either. Instead, he took a sip of his water and opened his menu.

Tim immediately took the menu from him.

“Tim—”

“I’ve been here before. Have you?”

“I’m perfectly capable of ordering my own meal.”

“What did I say about letting people take care of you?”

“Is that even what you said?”

Tim shrugged. “I don’t remember half of what I say.” He tapped both their menus against the table to line them up and set them to the side. “Let me order.”

Martin rolled his eyes and relaxed back in his chair. “So this is what it’s like to date you? You make all the decisions and they just sit here? Are you like this in bed, too?”

Tim eyed him over his water glass. “Some people like that, Martin.”

Martin coughed and went beet red. He looked to the hardwood floors and then the sparsely decorated walls. His eyes caught on a painting of a naked woman balancing an apple on her head. He abruptly looked at the tablecloth.

Tim laughed. “You are just as bad as Jon.”

“As Jon?” Martin looked up slightly. Luckily, Tim was no longer looking at him so Martin was free to analyze the sharp angle of his jaw and the bob of his Adam’s apple as he drank. “What about Jon?”

“He goes all dry-mouthed when I mention dating, let alone sex.” Tim set his glass down and licked his lips. “When I told him about my arrangement at the police precinct, he barely let me get two words out before he said, ‘that’s quite enough information, Tim’ and went back to his tape recorder.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Tim’s eyes narrowed. “What’s it to you?”

“What’s… nothing. What?”

Tim raised his eyebrows but let it go as the waiter returned with the wine. He tasted it, then nodded, and the waiter poured each of them a generous glass. Martin decided not to protest; he just wouldn’t drink it. Tim ordered with lazy precision and handed back the menu – everything he ordered sounded delicious, even if it also sounded like way too much food.

As the waiter retreated, Tim raised his glass. “A toast,” he said, “to your crush on the boss.”

As Martin clinked his glass, he sputtered. The protests bubbled up too fast for him to pick one and all that came out was incoherent gibberish. Tim gave him a look that was somewhere between _shut up_ and _you’re pathetic_ and said, “Drink up.”

Martin did, if only to have something to do other than blubber like an idiot while he tried to deny Tim’s claim. He felt like an idiot. Of course Tim had ulterior motives when he invited him to dinner. Tim _always_ had ulterior motives, even if they were good ones. Martin had, stupidly, thought that maybe Tim was just trying to sleep with him. That was Tim’s usual motive for everything.

The food came and Tim ordered a second bottle. When Martin protested, Tim said, “Come on. If you’ve got a hard-on for the least obtainable person in the office, the least you deserve is to get good and drunk on some else’s dime.” And Martin shut his mouth. Because, well. There was no arguing with that.

They stumbled back to the Archives far too drunk and far too loud. Martin had to lean most of his weight on Tim to stand and Tim had to lean most of their combined weight onto nearby walls to walk. Their laughter echoed off the quiet streets, then tapered into aborted whispers as they neared the Archives and the worms.

Martin sobered as he stepped on one and Tim snorted at the sound it made. Martin fumbled his keys in the door, saying, “I’m all right from here, if you want to head home.”

“What kind of date would I be if I didn’t walk you to the door?”

“This is the door, Tim.” He glanced over his shoulder at the other man, not unaware of how close he was. Tim leaned against the stone wall, his head drooping to the side. “I am a little afraid you’re going to pass out on the street though.”

He shook his head. “You may not be able to hold your liquor, but I…” Tim trailed off, screwed up his face, and then burped loudly.

Martin couldn’t help the fit of giggles that overtook him as he opened the door. He intended to step inside, shut the door, and leave Tim outside but after one step it became clear that there was no way he could climb the stairs on his own. Tim slipped in after him, closing the door with a drunken sense of what was quiet, and wrapped his arm around Martin’s waist. Martin leaned into him, the scent of wine heavy on them both, as they made their way to his room.

Tim stumbled on the last step and Martin caught him before they both went down. They took the last few steps tangled up in each other – Tim’s arm on Martin’s waist, Martin’s hand on Tim’s elbow, their feet knocking into each other and everything else – and collapsed against the door, laughing and shushing each other simultaneously.

Martin covered Tim’s mouth with his hand and their eyes met. A spark of something went through Tim’s wide pupils – Martin didn’t want to call it desire because, well – and he licked Martin’s palm.

Martin recoiled. “That’s gross.” He wiped his palm on his jeans as Tim collapsed into him, his head against his shoulder, his breath hot in the crook of his neck. Martin allowed himself to play with the hairs on the nape of Tim’s neck as he watched his soft breathing. Tim’s lips pressed against his pulse point.

“Martin, is everything—”

He looked up.

Jon stood two stairs from the top, his eyes wide, curls unruly, looking like he hadn’t slept in a week and a half. He promptly cleared his throat and looked away. “Uh, I’m sorry, I just heard some noise and thought…” He took a step back down the stairs. “Have a good night, then.”

“Jon, it’s not—” Martin started and then quickly stopped when he realized that he, first of all, had nothing to apologize for and, second of all, was slurring so badly the words were unintelligible.

Tim chose that brilliant moment to lift his head. “Oh, Jon,” he said. “I was just getting Martin off to bed.”

“Shut up,” Martin hissed.

Jon raised his hands in surrender. “I just wanted to make sure everything was all right.”

“Just peachy.” Tim leaned further back against the door, effectively crushing Martin’s arm behind his shoulders. Tim’s eyes roved lazily across Jon’s unkempt figure and Martin recognized the drunken desire to undress him. Hell, he felt it. Tim said, “Would you like to join us?”

Jon stared at them for a second longer while Martin’s face heated to an inhuman degree. “No, that’s quite all right. You two have a nice night.”

When he disappeared down the stairs, Martin slapped Tim in the chest. “What the fuck was that?”

Tim caught his hand, laughing, and brought it to his lips. “Sweet dreams, Martin.” Then, he took a step back and left.

**Back in the apocalypse…**

“Martin… I don’t want to hear about your date with Tim,” Jon said.

“That was so not the point of that story.”

“It was a story about a date you went on with _Tim_ —”

“Now who’s jealous?”

Jon shut his mouth hard and looked resolutely ahead. Fog rolled over the dead grass, covering everything more than five feet from where they were. Something was coming – or, rather, they were coming for something – and Jon had no idea what. That thick fog blocked him out as well as the Dark.

Martin knocked their shoulders together. “Jon…” he said, dragging out the word. “It was one date. It wasn’t even a real date. Nothing happened.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “He gave you a hickey.”

Martin snorted. “Well, I didn’t exactly know he was doing it at the time.” He smiled and bumped into Jon again. “You may not remember it, but the two of you used to get along. You chose him for the Archives.”

“Not the point.”

“You asked for a happy story!”

“Not about your dating life.”

“If it makes you feel better, you can tell me a story about Georgie.”

Jon shook his head. A small smile curled over his lips but he did his best to hide it. “I just think that when you look back on your happiest memories, I should be in them.”

Martin stepped in front of him and he stopped. He looked up to meet Martin’s dark eyes and his amused smile. “And I think you should wake up from a coma when I spend all my days sitting by your sick bed. So we’re even.”

Before Jon could protest, Martin leaned in and kissed him. It started as a light peck but then Martin took a deep breath and rested his hand on the back of Jon’s neck to pull him closer. Jon never got used to kissing Martin – Martin kissed like he only breathed against his lips and if he pulled away too fast, Martin may expire from lack of oxygen. Jon cradled Martin’s cheek and kissed him back.

Martin pulled back with a laugh. “God, how long has it been since I kissed you?”

“Well, time isn’t really—”

“Yeah, yeah. Time doesn’t really work traditionally in this world. Shut up.” Martin murmured half his words against Jon’s lips as he leaned in again. And Jon laughed as he was kissed and then he kissed back and then he forgot about the fog.


End file.
